


Be Someone Else

by WelshCakes68



Series: The Surrogate [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Discussed Sexual Content, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Fingerfucking, Heavy Drinking, Modern Era, Oral Sex, Quiet Sex, Sexual Content, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelshCakes68/pseuds/WelshCakes68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark has a...concern...and when the drinks start flowing she unloads onto her sister, Arya. Can this ever be a good idea?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discuss the Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Discuss the Problem..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a sequel to **‘What’s Your Type?’**. It's set about 6 months later, but you don’t have to read that to understand this one…though of course, if you want to, I won’t stop you. =D
> 
> The lovely reception that **‘What’s Your Type?’** had bolstered me to post this one too. It’s the first time I’ve really tried to write smut so…no promises.
> 
> Disclaimer- As ‘A Game of Thrones’ was first published on my 6th Birthday and I was not a child prodigy, it is clear that all rights are reserved by the Author, George R.R. Martin.
> 
> *WC68*

# Be Someone Else

###### Chapter One- Discuss the Problem

"So, how's it going with the girlfriend?" Arya asked, taking her seat with a smirk, still finding Sansa’s liking of girls (well, a girl) highly amusing for reasons unknown to Sansa.

Sansa took her time surveying the Northern-themed bar her sister had found for them before replying. "It's going amazingly well, actually." Sansa said with a matter of fact tone and half a challenge in her voice.

"Goody goody gum-drops." Arya replied sincerely with a small smile. Sansa returned the smile with a coy bite of her lip and they clunked their glasses together before downing the first brandy of the evening.

 

_~2 hours, 7 minutes, 4 ales and 5 brandies later~_

 

"There's just one thing." Sansa somewhat slurred, wobbling slightly on her stool.

"What thing?" Arya replied slightly more coherently, looking at her sister through the tumbler spectacles she’d just fashioned herself.

"It's just, Margaery. Well, she's so much more experienced at all of _this_ than I am." At the _‘this’_ , Sansa gestured in front of her, as if _‘this’_ were a breathing, living entity, sitting at the table and drinking with them.

" _This_ , what?" Arya asked, grabbing a handful of the peppered pine nuts from the centre of the table before clarifying, “Girls?”

"Well…yeah."

"Well, she would be wouldn't she? She's the veteran, chartered lesbian and you're the... _uncategorised_ , novice lady-lover."

"I'm not _uncategorised_ , I’m bi!" Sansa retorted heatedly and then almost immediately lost her fire, looking unsure of herself. "I think. Or, possibly straight, with a ‘Margaery Exception’."

“Heteroflexible? I’ve heard that somewhere before. Or maybe a _Kinsey 1_?”

“Maybe.” Sansa replied with a bark of laughter. “I’m not sure.”

"So, not yet categorised then?" Arya snarked with a drawl.

Sansa huffed. "What I mean is,” she started loudly, bringing the conversation back to its beginning, “I don't like to feel inept at anything and that extends to… _this_."

Having now established what Sansa was referring to when saying _‘this’_ , Arya was quick to reassure her. "You've been together for a few months now, haven't you? I'm sure you can't be _that_ inept, else she'd've chucked you by now."

For reasons that Arya couldn't fathom, this thought did not seem to reassure her sister.

"Seven months.” Sansa qualified absently. “I just...I know I'm the first, _first_ she's been with."

Arya tried to puzzle this out for a moment, pupils swivelling to the top right of her brain, as if the answer were there, before giving up and throwing a confused and expectant look at her older sister.

"She's never been the person that someone has had their first ‘girl experience’ with before, until me."

"Great. So it's a first for both of you then." Arya smiled benignly, as though this were a victory.

"No!" Sansa wailed, frustrated. "You don't get it!" She dramatically stated, throwing an arm over her eyes, leaning back against the wall.

"Then explain it better or pick a different fucking topic of conversation!" Arya snapped, losing her patience with this to-and-fro.

Sansa let out a frustrated breath, combing her fingers through her hair before leaning forward, attempting to clear the haze in her brain enough to try again. "Every other girl she's been with, they've known what they've been doing and I…don't." Sansa finished with a pitiful shrug of her shoulders.

A few years ago, Arya might have somewhat sadistically relished her perfect older sister feeling unaccomplished and poor at something, anything, but they had both grown up a lot in recent years. _‘A few years of living apart works wonders on one’s tolerance for siblings’_ Arya thought drily. Arya took a breath and tried to think out a more sensitive answer this time. “Well, that stuff comes with time doesn’t it? Margaery knew the fact you hadn’t done the ‘girl thing’ before. She’s not going to expect anything different from you.”

“It’s not just about her. She doesn’t make me feel…inferior or anything when I seem unsure of myself or wary. It just bothers _me_ , that _I_ feel that way. Margaery is so assertive and confident and I’m just…not. I’ve never particularly cared before how I’ve come across in…that setting.” Sansa hesitated with a blush. “But the only other person I’ve been with…eurgh…I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about anyway so I didn’t care what he thought of me in bed.”

Sansa was seriously killing her buzz but the look on her face said that this had been stewing inside of her for a while so Arya tried again.

“Well, do something to change it then.” Arya replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Like what?” Sansa asked with a disbelieving and somewhat desperate laugh.

Arya sighed, not entirely certain how she’d managed to get into such an in-depth discussion with her sister about her sex life. “If you want to be more assertive and confident in bed, then _be_ more assertive and confident in bed. Simples.”

“It’s not _‘simples’_. I can’t do that!”

“Why not? No one ever goes into anything the first time feeling confident or knowing what the fuck they’re doing. You just have to fake it ‘til you make it and sex is definitely one of those things, whether it’s with a boy or a girl.”

“I just…can’t!” Sansa replied forlornly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m Sansa Stark!” She stated as if this was all the explanation that was required but carried on anyway without further prompting, as though some internal dam had burst. “I’m the sweet girl. The girl that wears pastel colours and thinks animal hats are cute. Who’s read ‘Florian and Jonquil’ about fifty thousand times. The one that blushes easily and only gets to the knee before calling _nervous_. I’m sweet, not sexy and you have to be sexy to pull off assertive and confident. Sansa Stark does not _do_ sexy, provocateur, seductress.”

Sansa looked so down trodden, resting her chin in the crease of her elbow and drawing shapes in the condensation of her glass. _‘I don’t understand how beautiful girls can be so bloody self-conscious.’_ Arya thought curiously with a roll of her eyes.

“Then don’t be Sansa Stark.”

Sansa raised her gaze to her sisters, head still resting on her arm. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you don’t think Sansa Stark can be assertive and sexy and confident, don’t be Sansa Stark; be someone who _can_ be all of those things. Be…Alayne Stone.” Arya pronounced with a smile, an eyebrow raise and a dramatic gesture of her hands, like the name was up in lights.

“Alayne Stone?” Sansa asked amused, now raising her head and gracing her with a smile.

“Yes, Alayne Stone. A bastard girl from the Vale with a lowborn mother and a father of higher birth. Alayne Stone hates animal hats, detests pastel colours, lacks the proximity of capillaries-to-skin for blushing, thinks Jonquil was an idiot and gets right up to the vag in a game of ‘Nervous’.” Sansa now spat out her mouthful of ale, the rest fountaining out of her nose. _‘How very unladylike. Hello Alayne!’_ Sansa managed to choke down what ale was left in her mouth and let out a string of giggles.

“Hmmm. That sounds…doable.”

“Of course it is.” Arya responded confidently, taking a deep pull from her own glass.

Sansa nodded with a smile but Arya saw it morph from a smile to a grimace in the space of 5 seconds like some sort of depressing flip-book.

“What now?” She asked, somewhat aggrieved that her moment had been short-lived.

“Well, it’s alright acting confident in what you’re doing but then…actions need to accompany that.”

Arya took another deep swig from her glass, considering the statement. “I don’t know what advice I can give you on…‘moves’ for girls.”

“I’m not asking you!” Sansa snapped defensively but with an uncomfortable squirm in her seat.

Arya sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to need more alcohol before I go down this pathway with you.” And she got up to go to the bar, leaving Sansa at the table.

 

_~18 minutes, 2 and a half ales and 3 brandies later~_

 

“So I’m just going to ask, to get it out the way, rip the band aid and all that. You’ve gotten her off before, right?”

Sansa’s face flamed. “Yes!”

“Like…once or a couple of times?” Arya edged.

“Plenty of times! Practically every time in fact!” Sansa stated hurriedly, correcting her posture proudly into her defensive stance of ‘Proper Lady’ despite the subject matter.

“Cool your fucking jets Sans, I don’t want specifics. I’m just asking because, if that’s the case, then it’s purely your attitude and maybe your strategy that needs a rework, not your moves.”

Sansa calmed down a bit at that, the feeling of being judged evaporating slowly. “Okay then.” She took a breath then appeared to have come to some sort of a realisation, eying her younger sister shrewdly. “I’m not sure how comfortable I feel, having my little sister speak with such confidence on this topic.” An awkward silence followed where both Stark girls stared each other out, Arya wearing her best poker face and Sansa, a look that clearly said, ‘What have you been up to now?’ “I hope your ba…mechanic boyfriend hasn’t been corrupting you?”

Arya’s nostrils flared in response. “His name is Gendry and if you don’t want to benefit from the learnings I’ve had from my _‘bastard mechanic boyfriend’_ then you can fuck off and ask someone else for advice!” Without breaking her stare, Arya tilted her head to the side with a challenge. “If it makes you feel uncomfortable, speaking with me, you could always ring big-brother-Robb and ask for his thoughts on the matter.”

Sansa’s lip curled in response to her sister’s words, knowing she was stuck. Though she often considered Robb to be her closest sibling, she would never speak with him of such things. She wouldn’t have done so with a boyfriend either but it had only been a few months, and like most of the Starks, Robb was still adjusting to Sansa’s new…partner. Sansa was a private person and the only other individual she would feel comfortable discussing such things with would be Margaery.

Eventually, Sansa relented, biting out an apology. “I’m sorry. That was rude. That’s your business.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, as apologies often did, made worse by the fact that she didn’t really believe that it wasn’t her business who her sister was laying with between the sheets. The Starks were simply _that_ type of family, as Arya well knew, no matter how much her sister tried to rebel against the idea. Arya’s face was pinched and unchanging. “So, attitude and strategy, you say?” Sansa attempted to steer them from the awkwardness.

Arya and Sansa were both loath to give out apologies, equally stubborn. They were identical in this like they were nothing else, but at least, on the flip side, Arya didn’t drag out the acceptance of apologies. Luckily, and against the norm, alcohol seemed to douse the fire that always seemed to simmer under the surface of Arya’s skin, making her quicker to forgive and more affectionate (in that order) than she was when sober. There was still an awkward moment of unease while Arya’s face slowly shifted to neutrality before she seemed to shake off the last remnants of her ire. She didn’t launch herself across the table to hug Sansa but she didn’t look she was plotting her murder either so Sansa gladly staked her flag on their middle ground.

“Okay, so, the only real difference between passionate, assertive sex and…more, sweet, romantic sex,” ( _‘I’m not saying ‘love making’’_ ) “is essentially speed and intensity. You can reach the ‘end goal’ from both and they’re both great but it’s like takeaway food; sometimes you want Braavosi and sometimes you want Dornish. We don’t know why we want one this week and the other the next, but they both fill you up either way.” Sansa was nodding and leaning forward in her seat, seemingly soaking up Arya’s inebriated words of wisdom. “Sweet people kiss, assertive people suck. Sweet people lick, assertive people bite. Sweet people sigh, assertive people moan. Other than that, you’re basically doing the same things at twice the speed and…bam! You’re being assertive instead of sweet. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Sansa nodded.

“Basically, if you follow your instincts, you’ll never go wrong. Unless your instincts are telling you to insert something somewhere where it’s never been before. That one is always worth clarifying first.”

“Noted!” Sansa exhaled on a laugh.

“Just go in confident and follow your instincts. I don’t care if you’re with a guy, a girl or a goat, instincts will lead you right.”

“I don’t think I’m kinky enough to bring a goat into it.” Sansa laughed, downing the last of her brandy.

It was Arya’s turn to resemble a water fountain…or a brandy fountain in this case. Arya laughed through the pain of the brandy burning the inside of her nostrils while Sansa chortled along with her. “Glad to hear it!”

“And you’ve said _instincts_ so many times it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.” Sansa noted aloud. “In-stin-cts. In-stin-cts.”

“Fine then, bitch, find me an alternative word for ‘instinct’ and I’ll use it.” Arya tested.

“Intuition. Predisposition. Proclivity. Urge. Aptitude. Impulse. Hunch. Inclin…”

“Alright, smart arse!” Arya playfully fumed. _‘Fucking hell, the walking bibliography is off. Bloody ‘Rain Man’ with a literature degree’_.

“Anything else?” Sansa asked, previous tension completely lost in the warm cocoon of alcohol.

Arya paused for a second, considering if she had any further pearls of wisdom from her own limited experience to offer out. “Don’t ask her if you can do something, just _do_ it. Don’t ask her to do something, _tell_ her to do it. Of course, it’s still meant to be fun, so keep that in mind. You don’t want to be too stern and treat her like a naughty student. Or maybe she’d be into that. Who knows?” Sansa flushed Tully red and shook her head with a disbelieving look on her face. “In terms of ‘moves’, if you’re really so concerned, just copy what she does or watch a Femme-Fuck-Film or something for some ideas.”

There was a brief pause from Sansa while she seemed to log and catalogue all this new information. “I don’t like porn films.” Sansa announced loudly, drawing a few stares from eager males at noticing females discussing porn. _‘We’ll be appearing in a few ‘Wank-Banks’ for that one.’_ Arya thought disinterestedly, finishing another brandy. “I need more of a storyline. I just think it would be good if, just once, just to give it a go, someone like Nick Cassavetes or Rob Reiner directed a porn film. Or Nicholas Sparks wrote a porn novel…uhhh…erotica. I could go for either.” Sansa was looking up and to the side now, clearly running through this scenario in her head while Arya took a pull of Sansa’s ale, considering her with a raised eyebrow as she always did when her sister went off on one of her weird tangents.

A moment passed before Sansa came back to herself, nodding along with a conversation, or possibly pep talk, she appeared to be having in her head before announcing “Yeah, I’m up for this. Alayne Stone. Bite, moan, suck, fuck. Got it.” Arya watched while her sister seemed to shake with that peculiar intensity she tended to only get when she was competing in something. “Yeah, let’s go!” She announced jumping up, taking one large step away from the table, getting her foot caught in her handbag strap and falling, high fiving the floor with her face.

“Sweet Mother, have mercy.” Arya drawled, bringing the glass to her lips and looking down at her hot-mess of a sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Say What?_ Section**
> 
> Heteroflexible- Not my term, just found it genius. I’d never heard it before I read **heart_noveau** ’s _‘do you want to be with somebody like me?’_ and she cited **Erika** so I’ll cite them both.
> 
> Kinsey 1- **History Lesson!** This refers to the ‘Kinsey Scale’ developed by Alfred Kinsey in 1948. Kinsey theorised that human sexuality falls on a rating-scale of 0-6, 0 being completely heterosexual, 6 being completely homosexual while 3 is equally heterosexual and homosexual, or bisexual. When Arya says _“…a Kinsey 1”_ , she means a 1 on the Kinsey scale which translates as, ‘Predominantly heterosexual, only incidentally homosexual’. Margaery would probably be a 6 or, the opposite on the scale to Sansa, a 5, ie, ‘Exclusively homosexual’ or ‘Predominantly homosexual, only incidentally heterosexual’ respectively.
> 
> Nervous- Not sure if ‘Nervous’ is just a British thing or not but just in case it is I’ll explain. ‘Nervous’ is basically a game played predominantly by teenagers (or drunk, horny adults) where you start touching someone else, say, on the foot or hand, and then slowly move onwards and upwards towards the body where all the fun stuff is. Whomsoever, whether the toucher or the touchee, calls ‘nervous’ (which is basically a safety word for stop) loses the game. So when Sansa says, _“…only gets to the knee before calling nervous.”_ , you were basically kind of considered a wimp if you didn’t get to at least thigh. Alayne, getting _“…right up to the vag in a game of ‘Nervous’”_ , would obviously make her crowned heavy weight champion.
> 
> *WC68*


	2. Apply the Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...Apply the Solution..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is where it starts to get a bit...raunchy!
> 
> Fair warning if that's not your particular brand of teabags.
> 
> *WC68*

# Be Someone Else

###### Chapter Two- Apply the Solution

Sansa tried to be as quiet as possible as she entered Margaery’s bedroom. Despite her drunken stumbling, Margaery was a heavy sleeper, so anything short of a foghorn to her ear and Sansa knew her girlfriend wasn’t likely to stir. However, she wanted to get this just right and that meant Margaery not waking up until Sansa was ready.

She took a moment to decide what her plan of action was going to be and came up blank. _‘Instinct. Instinct. It’s all about instinct! Know-how. Sense. Savvy. Not now, Sansa!’_ She went with her gut and took all of her clothes off before padding over to the bed and standing over Margaery who was sleeping soundly. She looked so peaceful. Sansa almost felt bad for waking her up…almost.

_‘Alayne Stone. Go!’_

Sansa threw the blankets off of Margaery and swivelled her around so that her legs were hanging over the side of the bed. Margaery wasn’t your average girl. She didn’t wear what Sansa would deem ‘comfy’ sleepwear. She was less night shirts and plaid bottoms and more black silk camisole and short shorts. _‘Horribly distracting when you’re intending to sex someone with single-minded determination’_ Sansa thought, wistfully.

Margaery startled awake and opened her eyes, managing to get out a half annoyed, “Sansa! What are you doi…” before Sansa crashed their mouths together, forcing her tongue into Margaery’s mouth while pressing her naked body firmly into her girlfriends. Margaery let out a surprised yelp into Sansa’s mouth but brought her hands up to cradle her head to her own instinctively. Sansa started to run her hands down from Margaery’s sides to her hips, taking the silk shorts in hand and pulling them down to her knees in one swift movement without breaking the kiss before noticing that Margaery had nothing on underneath. _‘Seriously Margaery? Like, what the fuck?’_

“Sansa? What’s gotten into you?” The huskiness of Margaery’s voice was intoxicating; her head was already clouded by the alcohol and Margaery’s commando-ness so she couldn’t afford anymore distractions.

“Shhhh.” Sansa ordered, taking Margaery’s camisole off before diving back in, pressing biting kisses to her neck, lingering only a little before working her way down, alternating between sucking and biting Margaery’s glorious skin. When she got low enough, she pulled the shorts down Margaery's calves before bracing herself on her arms over Margaery's prone form. A wicked idea came to her and she let the smirk show on her face. In retaliation, Margaery raised a dubious, questioning eyebrow as Sansa lowered herself slowly and placed a slow but intense kiss on Margaery's lips. She pulled away after only a few seconds and let the tip of her nose rest against Margaery's. “I want you to be quiet.” Sansa whispered. "This is a rule and if you break this rule, there will be consequences. Do you understand? Not a peep."

Margaery's eyes widened, surprised that Sansa was giving her a directive but turned-on as hell nonetheless. She pursed her lips in a smirk and nodded her head; Sansa could not decide whether the look was smug or proud. Sansa had her hands resting low on Margaery's hips and stroked her thumbs along the softer skin of her inner thighs. She leaned down again and kissed Margaery hard. "Good girl."

Without any further delay, Sansa went to her knees on the floor, pinned Margaery’s hips with her fingers and buried her head between her legs, pushing her tongue deep into her opening.

Margaery’s back bowed off the bed and her mouth fell open in surprise though she managed to stop herself from making any sounds. Sansa smirked into Margaery’s flesh but didn’t move away, just tightened her grip on her girlfriends hips as they started to fidget.

Sansa felt a heady sense of power at having Margaery at her mercy like this. Obviously, they had been in this position before but normally she was so blissed out by the time it was ‘Margaery’s turn’, the pace was quite relaxed and Margaery ended up using her own fingers to finish bringing herself to completion. _‘Not tonight though!’_ Alayne sang in her head.

Sansa was focused on her task, alternating her attention between Margaery’s opening and her clit. She was going faster and deeper and harder than she normally would, feeling odd to not be savouring everything but Margaery seemed to like this just as much normal so Sansa carried on. She felt Margaery’s hand in her hair, twisting the red locks between her strong fingers, applying some pressure to her scalp, pushing Sansa’s head down while she skimmed her fingers down her mid-riff to work on her own clit. Sansa immediately loosened the fingers from her hair and clasped both of Margaery’s hands, forcing them upwards. “No.” She said sternly and without further explanation. Margaery looked so adorably aghast by this that Sansa found it difficult not to smile. As a consolation, she moved Margaery’s hands so that she clutched her own breasts with Sansa’s hands squeezing around hers.

Margaery was looking down at her with an assessing look but the heat in her gaze was clear to see. At some point previously, she must have put some pillows under her back because she was now reclined and able to look down on Sansa with very little effort. Sansa would have normally blushed and looked down at the floor and felt insecure and maybe slightly overwhelmed that anyone, especially Margaery, could look at her with such intensity and reverence. _‘But right now, I’m not Sansa Stark. I’m Alayne Stone. And Alayne Stone isn’t someone to get into a staring competition with.’_

Sansa purposefully maintained eye contact with Margaery’s passionate stare, amber meeting aquamarine as she lowered her mouth to continue its previous task. Margaery’s chest heaved and she pulled her hands from beneath Sansa’s, bringing them to her own head, tugging harshly on the brown curls at her temple, lifting her eyes up to the ceiling.

“Oh my gods! Seven save me, Sansa!” She groaned huskily before throwing her head to the side.

 _‘Oh dear.’_ Alayne thought apathetically. _‘And she was doing so well.’_ Sansa wanted to let out a groan of frustration herself. She couldn’t let that go by unchecked. _‘What would be the point in having rules if one is not strong enough to enforce them?’_

She reluctantly pulled away from Margaery’s centre and began, instead, placing butterfly kisses along the inside of her thighs. She could feel more than see Margaery’s head snap back to centre and her eyes boring into the top of her skull.

“What are you doing?” She asked with no hint of mirth or playfulness.

“Stopping.” She answered simply, running her nose up Margaery’s thigh, letting hot air blow from her nostrils as she went.

“Stopping?” She asked scandalised. “Why?”

“You broke the rule.”

Margaery let out a harsh breath and ran a hand over her own face. “Fine, fine okay, I’m sorry, I’m good now, just…please keep going.” She lifted her arm like she was about to bring her hand to Sansa’s head again before Sansa’s warning look made her pause and retreat.

Several seconds passed before Sansa finally answered. “Nope. Not yet.”

“When then?” Margaery gritted out through her teeth.

“30 seconds.” Sansa answered, her lips now skimming along the skin below Margaery’s belly button.

“30 seconds?!” Repeated dismayed, as though it were an eternity.

“Mmmmmm-hmmmmmmm.” Sansa answered nibbling lightly on her protruding hip bone.

“But it’s been 30 seconds since you stopped!” She stated.

“And you’ve also been talking the entire time.” Sansa pointed out, unmoved.

An unfamiliar, petulant groan left Margaery’s throat and she threw an arm over her eyes.

“When you stop making noise, I’ll start counting, okay?” Sansa queried with the infinite patience of someone who dealt with a class full of five-year-olds on a daily basis.

Margaery took a few seconds, crossing her arms before nodding her head.

“Okay then. One…” Sansa started, and with each number said aloud, placed a gentle kiss on some part of Margaery, but never the parts she knew she craved.

Margaery’s leg muscles would spasm and her hips would jerk as Sansa’s lips landed on certain places; Sansa did her best to commit these to memory, so she could check at a later date whether these were flukes or not.

“Twenty-Nine…Thirty.” Margaery expelled a breath of relief but did not make any other noise. Sansa lowered herself back to her starting position but then thought better of it after catching sight of Margaery’s glistening folds and, instead, inserted two fingers inside of her without hesitation. Again, Margaery’s upper body arched off of the bed before flopping back down ungracefully but, as before, her girlfriend managed to stop any noise from escaping her mouth. Sansa left her fingers there, not twisting, pushing, rubbing or moving them in any way, waiting patiently for Margaery to look down at her.

Margaery’s hands were clasping the curls at the sides of her head again as she looked down beseechingly at Sansa, as though she were in agony.

“If you make a noise again, next time, I’ll stop for a minute. And if you do it again, I’ll stop for two. Do you understand where I’m going with this?” She queried with a raised eyebrow. Margaery nodded so emphatically, in any other context, it would have been hilarious. “Good.” She drawled.

She set back to her task and within minutes felt the tension in Margaery’s body begin to seize up again. She moved her fingers in a fairly slow pace but her tongue on her clit was unrelenting. Margaery was now pushing the palms of her hands into her eye sockets in a way that looked fairly painful, the ecstatic agony on her face displaying her conflict at whether the dual sensation was too fast or too slow.

Sansa continued with her ministrations while the fingernails of her other hand raked gently and slowly down the side of Margaery’s ribcage. Margaery threw her hands over her head, reaching for one of Sansa’s unused pillows before smothering her own face with it.

 _‘Cheat!’_ Alayne thought victoriously. Sansa grabbed the pillow roughly and brought it down to the floor beside her, proclaiming “That’s cheating, isn’t it?” Margaery nodded her head and waved her hands in apology, her golden-brown eyes begging her not to invoke the punishment. Sansa made no move either way for a tense ten seconds before placing the pillow under her knees to relieve some of the pressure and burn from the carpet. Even though this position was easier on her neck, her back was starting to ache and she could feel that her knees were most likely red raw. _‘Time to wrap this up.’_ Alayne commentated airily.

Sansa lowered her head back to Margaery with renewed purpose and this time made her fingers match the quickened pace of her tongue. She looked up at Margaery and she had never felt more powerful or more confident in herself before. Her beautiful, glamorous, experienced, older girlfriend/best friend was writhing in a way she had never seen her do before and it was all because of Sansa/Alayne.

Margaery’s muscles began their tell-tale sequence of clenching and Margaery looked like her teeth were going to bite right through her upper lip when Sansa took pity on her. She pushed the pads of her fingers firmly upwards inside of her while leaving her upper lip touching her clitoris when she said, “You can speak.”

Margaery’s eyes snapped down to her briefly to confirm and the acquiescence she saw there made her release a howling string of groans and moans and pants that Sansa did not think it possible for a human to make. It made her think oddly of the noises they would hear coming from the forest behind Winterfell Manor when the dogs were in heat. It was as if every decibel of sound that Margaery had contained thus far was suddenly released into one sonic boom-like wail. _‘The neighbours **must** be hearing this.’_ Sansa thought with a proud yet sadistic little smirk.

Sansa was coaxing Margaery gently through the aftermath with a firm but slow touch and reached up almost in a daze to tweak one of Margaery’s nipples while pressing down hard on her clitoris with the tip of her tongue and suddenly her muscles were contracting again, the noises that Sansa had never realised had softened were back at full volume.

Sansa tilted her head so that Margaery could not see the beaming smile Sansa now wore on her face as she continued her gentle touches. _‘I’ve never managed **that** before!’_ She thought elated and proud of herself.

Finally, Margaery’s palm was pushing none too gently at the top of Sansa’s head, letting her know she couldn’t handle anymore. Sansa sat back on her heels and threw her head back, looking up at the ceiling before letting out a throaty chuckle at her victory. Margaery seemed oblivious, her eyes closed, head thrown to the side and panting as though she’d just finished a marathon. She thought she heard Margaery whimper something about a ‘sprained vagina’ but Sansa laughed that off as a drunken misread over the sound of her own loud heartbeat ringing in her ears.

Still smiling, Sansa grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the side unit and wiped them over her face and fingers before cleaning up the mess on Margaery’s thighs as best she could. Margaery let out a small whimper at the contact but did not move her head or even open her eyes. Job done as best as possible (without making the obscenely long trip to Margaery’s en-suite) Sansa swivelled Margaery back around, so that she was lying in a more traditional manner on the bed, and crawled over her still boneless form before raising the blankets over the both of them, rolling Margaery over slightly to cuddle into her back.

Margaery finally seemed to come back to herself a bit at recognising that she was suddenly the _little spoon_. “I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you tonight but I want it bottled and brewed nationwide at the earliest possible convenience.” She ran her hands through her hair in a sated, carefree way while Sansa said nothing, only kissed the tops of her shoulders. “Let me just…let me get my breath back…and I’ll…”

Sansa noted amusedly that Margaery was struggling to keep her eyes open and her speech was slurring. _‘I thought I was the one that just had a night of heavy drinking!’_ Sansa thought affectionately. _‘Maybe that’s why Margaery always tends to instigate things?’_ Sansa had registered that Margaery was always quite lethargic after an orgasm but as Sansa was always made to come first, she’d never really thought much of it until now.

She smiled fondly and pressed her lips to the shell of Margaery’s ear. “Just sleep now, my Beautiful Rose.”

“But you…”

“Sleep.” She ordered imperiously and, in keeping with the theme of the evening, Margaery obeyed.

Sansa kissed her temple softly, wrapping herself more tightly around Margaery’s form and thinking sleepily with a smirk, how well Margaery and Alayne Stone had gotten along.

*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Phew!
> 
> That was my first time writing smut!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought?
> 
> *WC68*


	3. Observe the Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...Observe the Results._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following the journey 'til the end!
> 
> *WC68*

# Be Someone Else

###### Chapter Three- Observe the Results

Margaery was having a fabulous sleep when she was jostled by her girlfriend clambering over her and was fully welcomed back to the world of consciousness by a loud thud as said girlfriend fell over the side of the bed. Margaery jerked up, trying to blink the pain out of her eyes at the sudden onslaught of light and could make out Sansa, naked as the day she was born, crawling on all fours to the door of Margaery’s en-suite, reaching up blindly to open it. Sansa crawled inside with a string of low moans, proceeding to close and lock the door behind her. She heard the water from the tap running loudly but not loudly enough to cover the sound of Sansa’s retching.

Margaery threw her head back down on the pillow, face down, and took a breath, trying to wake herself up properly before dealing with Sansa. When she threw the blankets off of herself, the sudden chill made her look down and she realised that she too, was naked. It took about three seconds to puzzle out and then the night before (or was it earlier that morning?) came flooding back to her in a glorious flash. _‘Sweet fuck! What exactly got into my Sweet Wolf last night?’_ Margaery wondered. _‘Not me’_ she remembered hazily, now guiltily abashed. It was sudden and spontaneous and hot and…so unlike Sansa. Of course, Sansa was hot. Sansa managed to pull off hot while cleaning the toilet, somehow. She didn’t even need to be conscious and she could make Margaery lose her mind but this was another shade of Sansa that she hadn’t seen before and it was frightfully exciting to see.

She heard a long pause in Sansa’s gagging noises, gave it twenty seconds then wrapped a sheet around herself and went to the door. She knocked quietly twice and waited. “Babe? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice answered shakily and high. “Go back to bed.”

“Can I get you anything?” Margaery pressed.

“No…just…I’m goo…” Sansa broke off on a heave and Margaery retreated back to the bed. She’d known Sansa Stark for over three years now and no matter how close they got, if Sansa was sick, injured, hungover, or likewise in any other state of vulnerability, she stubbornly refused help, like it was some sort of weakness she could not afford anyone to see. Margaery wondered if the fact that they were now girlfriends made it more or less likely for her to break through that barrier.

The only time Margaery had actually seen her girlfriend this ill through alcohol was when she got ‘Northern Drunk’. Sansa had the liver lining of a true Northerner, which in Margaery’s opinion was typically, borderline alcoholic, so whenever they had gone out for a drink together with their University friends, all of whom were Southern, the most effect it had ever had on Sansa was tipsy; droopy eyes, giggly and a Scrubs-like internal monologue playing on her face at odd moments. However, when she had seen her Sweet-Sansa pitted against a Mormont, an Umber or even another Stark, she typically came off the worse for wear.

The morning after, buried under a quilt on the sofa, Sansa would always complain that the South was making her soft and that she shamed her Father’s gods with such a weak performance.

 _‘Maybe it was the alcohol that made her that way last night?’_ Margaery thought suddenly. Sansa hadn’t had a ‘Northern Night’ since they’d gotten together and if she had gone out with Arya last night it definitely would have been one. Maybe the alcohol let’s flow a little _Wildling savagery_ that her normally docile girlfriend wouldn’t otherwise partake in.

The lock slowly clunked open and Sansa wearily stepped out, hunched over like the Crone, bleary eyed, slightly green, with one of Margaery’s towels wrapped around her, which barely even covered her arse due to her lanky frame.

_‘So fucking beautiful!’_

“You okay?”

“Mmmmmm.” Sansa replied with a White Walker groan and stiffly climbed back up onto the bed, over Margaery, before lying down on her side, facing away, and slinging Margaery’s arm over herself.

_‘Guess I’m back to being the big spoon then.’_

“Good night at least?” Margaery asked quietly while peppering gentle, slow kisses to Sansa’s temple.

“I honestly can’t even remember. I hope I didn’t wake you up when I came in.” Sansa replied.

Margaery froze. _‘She doesn’t even remember? Does that mean I’m not getting a repeat performance?’_

“Sorry.” Sansa continued unaware of Margaery’s abject horror. “I don’t even know why I came in here. I should have gone to my own room. I must have wanted snuggles or something.”

_‘Or something...’_

Sansa threw a glance over her shoulder at Margaery’s lack of response and Margaery’s face morphed to a mask of composed calmness. “No problem. It’s always nice to wake up to you.”

Sansa repaid her compliment with a shy, pleased smile and a quick kiss to her lips. Margaery smirked when she tasted the mouthwash and toothpaste in Sansa’s mouth. _‘Sweet Girl’_. She remembered absentmindedly that she had tasted the same last night when she had thrown off Margaery’s blankets and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. Margaery also guessed that Sansa had generously doused herself in her perfume before coming into Margaery’s room as she remembered the smell invading her senses as she woke up, before being overwhelmed by the peppermint taste of her mouth. She puzzled over this for a moment. If this were anyone else other than Sansa, Margaery may have thought she was covering up some kind of tryst from the evening but…this was Sansa so that was a ‘no’. Another idea then struck her.

“Were you drinking ale last night?” Margaery asked.

Sansa seemed to think about it for a second. “Yes.” She drew out. “Though, I think it was the brandy that did me in. The heat of the South is making me soft! I shamed the old gods!”

Margaery smiled to herself. She absolutely detested the smell and taste of ale so it looked like her incredibly sweet and thoughtful girlfriend considerately tried to get rid of all traces before coming to her bed last night.

Margaery looked down at Sansa fondly, stroking her hair. Sansa’s brow creased, colour flooding her cheeks in the way that Margaery loved. Margaery was powerless to resist leaning down and pressing a string of firm but adoring kisses to Sansa’s lips.

“What was that for?” Sansa asked dazedly.

“Just because…I’m head over heels in love with you. That’s all.” She responded cavalierly.

Sansa blinked up at her. “You are?” She asked sweetly, hope cresting over her features.

Margaery felt her chest tighten, not knowing if she’d let her mouth runaway from her and said too much. She loved Sansa, she knew that, it wasn’t even in question but if you love someone platonically and then get romantic feelings for them, are you then technically _in_ love with them? She’d only ever said _‘I love you’_ to one girlfriend and that was a disaster and then it had been ‘Flings Only’ since that, really. The truth was…Sansa scared Margaery a little bit. She had managed to keep her walls up around ‘new people’ for so long and then Sansa Stark had somehow sneaked passed them without her ever really noticing. Which was fine, because Sansa was just a friend at the time but now, Sansa wasn’t just a friend and it was all so very confusing and overwhelming. “I’ve told you that I love you loads of times.” Margaery attempted a deflection while running her fingertips over Sansa’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but we’ve never said we’re in love with each other before. Or did you not mean to say _in_?” Sansa asked.

Looking down at Sansa, with her big, blue eyes and her dark, red hair, Margaery might not be able to say _why_ exactly it scared her to love Sansa Stark as much as she did, but she was more certain than she’d ever been about anything in her life, that she did.

“It did kind of slip out without my permission but I am _in_ love with you, yes.”

They stared at each other smiling for an inordinate amount of time before Margaery’s brow crinkled at the lack of reply. “Not that you have to…”

“I’m in love with you too!” Sansa jumped in with a pure, beaming smile, pulling Margaery’s face back down to her own.

They kissed for a few blissful moments but when Margaery started to deepen the kiss, sliding her tongue into Sansa’s mouth and rolling on top of her, Sansa quickly pulled away. “Sorry, I don’t want to spoil the moment or anything, but if I get any hotter I think I might throw up on you and I think that would spoil the moment a bit worse, yes?”

Margaery laughed and looked down at her with affection glowing in her eyes. “Yes. I think it would be considered quite a bad omen to tell someone you love them and then vomit on them.”

She placed a quick kiss on Sansa’s cheek and then pushed herself up. “Come on then. Let’s get you on the sofa and we can watch _Friends_ all day and eat Bon-Bons and lemoncakes.”

“Eurgh.” Sansa droned at the thought of movement but let herself get pulled up anyway. Sansa was still in her mini towel and Margaery wrapped in the sheet when they stepped out into the living room.

Margaery was about to ask Sansa if she could handle a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast when she caught movement out of her eye and screamed.

“Sweet Stranger. Calm the fuck down, will you?” Arya yelled back impatiently.

“When did you get here?” Sansa asked confused from next to Margaery, subtly trying to tug the base of the towel lower.

“Are you joking?” Arya asked bemused. At Sansa’s blank look, Arya continued, “After you face planted the floor in the bar, I tried to put you in a taxi but you were looking at the distance from the pavement to the car like it was the Wall…before you fell in, of course. I didn’t fancy your chances of manoeuvring the stairwell of this place by yourself, before the sun came up, so I came home with you. I slept in your room. Ringing any bells?”

It took her a moment but then a light seemed to come on in Sansa’s brain. “Yeah, I do…now.” She then brought her fingers up to her nose and pushed. “Owwww. Honestly, I can’t remember even leaving the bar. Sorry. Did you sleep okay?”

Arya cocked her head to the side, looking at Margaery when Sansa announced her memory loss. “Not that well to be honest.” Arya replied in a mock serious tone.

“How come? I didn’t wake you up this morning did I? The walls in this flat are really thin.”

“Yeah, they are _really_ thin aren’t they?” Arya replied, looking pointedly at Margaery and her stomach began to sink. “Noise carries _really_ well in here.” Margaery’s mind was suddenly cast back to the literal screaming orgasm Arya’s big sister had given her the night before while Arya was, apparently, trying to sleep in the room next door.

_‘Oh shit. Any other Stark. Why couldn’t this have been any other Stark? Well, sibling Stark. Arya is definitely still preferable to Ned or Catelyn in the circumstances.’_

“And how are you, Flower-Power? Feeling good?” Arya asked with the least convincing innocent face Margaery had ever seen.

Margaery just nodded rather than give Arya the satisfaction of hearing any embarrassment in her voice.

There was a somewhat tense silence after that which seemed to confuse Sansa while she was putting the kettle on. The elder Stark, apparently feeling awkward in the silence echoing through the flat, decided to choose a topic of conversation and it was inevitably the worst topic she could pick.

“What kept you up? Was I watching the TV or something after we got back.”

“Oh, no. It was Margaery that woke me up actually.” Arya had apparently lost her patience with her mummer’s farce of a slow torture.

“Margaery?” Sansa asked distractedly, making 3 cups of tea and putting them on their small kitchen table. “How’s that?” She looked at Margaery confused.

Margaery let out a frustrated huff and rolled her head in an unamused manner towards Arya who just sat there, smirking around her mug of tea. She looked back at Sansa and started to feel a little bit of embarrassment at having to do this in front of her girlfriends sod of a sister .“I…you didn’t tell me she was here.” She said by way of explanation with a pleading look in her eyes.

Sansa picked up her mug with a crease in her brow. “I don’t…”

“I think what Margaery is getting at is, if she’d known I was here, she would have made a concentrated effort to not match the decibel level of a Boing 747 take-off when she climaxed last night.” Arya deadpanned with no emotion on her face, casually taking a sip from her mug.

Sansa choked slightly on her tea and looked at Margaery while trying to catch her breath, asking with her eyes for some sort of explanation of what her sister had just announced.

Margaery just stared back, not really sure what she _could_ say to that. “Well…it’s your fault!” She argued, looking at Sansa accusingly. _‘Probably should have gone for something else, Margaery’_. “I’m going to go shower.” She announced before retreating to her bedroom, unable to look at Arya’s smug face or meet Sansa’s eye in that moment.

*~*~*

“I’d say Alayne Stone went down a fucking treat then?!” Arya asked with a great smirk as soon as Margaery’s bedroom door slammed shut.

“Alayne St…?” Sansa’s eyes got wide, another chunk of the evening apparently coming back to her. “Oh gods.” She leaned back in her seat, her hands going to her hair.

“ _Coming_ …back to you now, is it?” Arya smirked, taking a sip of her tea. Her sister sent her a disapproving look that was far too similar to their mother…not that she would ever be having such a discussion with their mother. _‘Ewww’_. “But it’s all good now, right? You feel better about…everything?”

Sansa thought on the memories that had flooded back to her; the confidence she’d felt the night prior, the inhibition melting from her like a snowflake in the peak of summer and the turn their relationship had taken that morning with their declarations and she could not help but return her sisters smirk.

“Yes. As you heard, Sister, Alayne Stone… _went down_ …very well.” Sansa’s smirk took on a wicked, lecherous quality and Arya let out a disgusted groan and laughed loudly, joined by Sansa.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Say What?_ Section**
> 
> Bon-Bons- British sweet, simples.
> 
> Scrubs- _‘…a Scrubs-like internal monologue playing on her face’_ is hard to explain if you’ve never seen it. I did my best at describing back in Chapter One but Google 'JD Scrubs look' and that's what I was going for.
> 
> *~*~*
> 
> I am pretty depleted on the spin-off front from **The Surrogate** so will try to work on the actual 'main event' a bit more now.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Hope y'all enjoyed? Deep feels for you all!
> 
> *WC68*  
> 


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